Injured homicide detective Brodey Hayward
needs a distraction, and he finds it as a consultant on a cold case murder.
When Brodey’s investigation delays plans to remodel the former crime scene, he
uncovers another kind of distraction: spirited Lexi Vanderbilt. Despite her
distrust of men, Brodey charms the alluring interior designer into helping him
examine the case facts.

Working closely with the ultrasexy detective
helps Lexi lower her guard, igniting a passion that even Chicago’s winter can’t
cool. As they close in on the killer, Lexi becomes his new target. To save her,
Brodey must either betray her trust—or risk losing Lexi forever.

* * *

About the Author

USA Todaybestselling author Adrienne Giordanowrites romantic suspense and mystery. She is a Jersey
girl at heart, but now lives in the Midwest with her workaholic husband, sports
obsessed son and Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist (Terrier). She is a co-founder of
Romance University blog and Lady Jane's Salon-Naperville, a reading series
dedicated to romantic fiction.

Lexi Vanderbilt’s mother taught her two very
important lessons. One, always wear coordinating lipstick, and two, recognize
an opportunity when it presented itself.

Standing in the ballroom of the newly renovated
Gold Coast Country Club, Lexi planned on employing those lessons.

All around her workers prepared for the throng of
club members who would descend in—she checked her watch—ninety-three minutes.
As the interior designer about to unveil her latest masterpiece, she would
spend those ninety-three minutes tending to everything from flowers to linens
to centerpieces. A waiter toting a tray of sparkling champagne glasses cruised
by. She took in the not-so-perfect cut of his tux and groaned. The staff’s
attire wasn’t her jurisdiction. Still, small details never escaped her. At
times, like now, it was maddening.

Oh, and just wait one second.
“Excuse me,” she said to a woman carrying a stack of tablecloths. “The sailboat
ice sculpture belongs on the dessert table by the window. The Willis Tower goes
by the champagne fountain.”

The woman hefted the pile of linens, a
not-so-subtle hint that the sculptures weren’t her problem. “Does it matter?”

If it didn’t, I wouldn’t ask.
Lexi sighed. “It matters. Unless you’d like to tell your boss, who specifically
requested the placement of the sculptures, that it doesn’t.”

For added effect, Lexi grinned and the woman
rolled her eyes. “I’ll get the busboys to move it.”

“Thank you.”

One minicrisis averted. And maybe she could have
let that one slide given that the club’s manager had to be 110 years old and
most likely wouldn’t remember which sculpture went where, but why take a chance
on something easily fixed?

Besides, tonight everything had to be perfect.

Functions attended by the richest of the rich were
a breeding ground for opportunities. Opportunities Lexi craved for her
fledgling design company. At twenty-nine, she’d already been profiled by the Banner-Herald
and all the major broadcast stations in the city. She was quickly gaining
ground on becoming Chicago’s “it” designer, and that meant dethroning Jerome
Laddis, the current “it” designer. He may have had more experience, but Lexi
had youth, energy and fresh ideas on her side. A few more insanely wealthy
clients touting Lexi’s work and look out, Jerome.

Then she’d hire an assistant, rehab her disaster
of a garage into an office and get some sleep.

Lots of it.

Right now, as she glanced around, took in the
exquisite silk drapes, the hundred-thousand-dollar chandelier and hand-scraped
floor she’d had flown in from Brazil, no questions on the tiny details would
haunt her. She’d make sure of it. Even if stress-induced hospitalization loomed
in her near future.

The upshot? She’d lost five pounds in the past two
weeks. Always a silver lining.

“Alexis?”

Lexi turned, her long gown swishing against the
floor and snagging on her shoe. She smiled at Pamela Hennings while casually
adjusting her dress. Darned floor-length gowns. “Mrs.
Hennings, how nice to see you.”

Mrs. Hennings air-kissed and stepped back. On her
petite frame she wore a fitted gown in her signature sky blue that matched her
eyes. The gown draped softly at the neckline, displaying minimal cleavage. As
usual, a perfect choice.

“I love what you’ve done in here,” Mrs. Hennings
said. “Amazing job.”

Being a club board member, she had no doubt shown
up early to make sure the unveiling of the new room would be nothing short of
remarkable. “Thank you. I enjoyed it. Just a few last-minute details and we’ll
be ready.”

“Everything is lovely. Even the damned ice
sculptures Raymond couldn’t live without. Waste of money if you ask me, but
some battles aren’t worth fighting.”

So true.

A loud bang from the corner of the room assaulted
Lexi’s ears. Please let that be silverware. She
shifted her gaze left and spotted the waiter who’d passed her earlier scooping
utensils onto a tray. Thank you.

Mrs. Hennings touched Lexi’s arm. “By the bye, I
think I have Gerald convinced his study needs an update. All that dark wood is
depressing.”

Now, that would be a thrill. If Lexi landed
the job and nailed it, the top 10 percent of Chicago’s executives would know
it. And competition ran hot with this social set. Before long, they’d be lined
up outside her office for a crack at outdoing Pamela and Gerald Hennings.

“I think,” Lexi said, “for him we could leave
touches of the dark woods. Macassar ebony would be fabulous on the floor.”

“Ooh, yes. Do you have time this week? Maybe you
could come by and work up some sketches?”

“Of course.” Lexi whipped her phone from her purse
and scrolled to her calendar. “How about early next week? Tomorrow I’m starting
a new project that might eat up the rest of my week.”

“I’ll make sure I’m available. What’s this new
project? Can you share?”

“The one from Cartright? How could I not? The
entire neighborhood went into a panic.”

The residents of Cartright, the North Side’s
closest thing to a gated community without the gates, employed private security
to help patrol the six city blocks that made up their self-titled haven. That
extra money spent on security kept the crime rate nearly nonexistent in those
six city blocks.

Except for the offing of one crooked stockbroker.

“That’s the one,” Lexi said. “I’ve been hired to
stage the house. The real estate agent suggested it to the broker’s widow and
she hired me.”

“I heard they couldn’t sell. The market is
destroying her. That poor woman. He left her with a mountain of trouble. He
paid top dollar and if she lowers the price again, she won’t make enough to
clear his debts. Add to that any retribution owed to the clients he borrowed
funds from without their knowledge.”

As expected, Pamela Hennings was up to speed on
the latest gossip. Gossip that Lexi would not share. Being told this
information about a client was one thing. Sharing it? Not happening. “I’m
looking forward to the project. It’s an incredible house.”

Being an interior designer didn’t always give Lexi
the chance to change someone’s life. Her work allowed people to see the beauty
in color and texture and shape and made their homes more than just a place to
live, but she didn’t often get the opportunity to alter an emotionally
devastating situation. Now she had the chance. Getting this house sold would
free the broker’s widow from debt and give her children a comfortable life.

And Lexi wanted to see that happen.

Plus, if she got the thing sold in forty-five
days, she’d make a whopping 20 percent bonus. The bonus alone would pay for an
assistant and give her a life back.

Nap, here I come.

Mrs. Hennings made a tsk-tsk noise. “They never
did find the murderer, did they?”

“No. Which I think is part of the problem. I may
do a little of my feng shui magic in there. Clear all the negativity out. When
I’m finished, that house will be beautiful and bright and homey.”

“The debt, the children and now the police can’t
find the murderer. And it’s been what, two years? No woman deserves to be left
with that.”

Again, Lexi remained quiet. Don’t get sucked
in. But, yes, it had been two years, and
from what Lexi knew, the police were no closer to finding the man’s killer.
Such a tragedy. “The case has gone cold.”

Sucked in. She smacked her lips
together.

“You know,” Mrs. Hennings said, “my husband’s firm
recently did some work with a pro bono cold case. I wonder if the investigator
who worked on that wouldn’t mind taking a look at this. I’d love to see the man’s
family given some relief. And, let’s face it, it would certainly be good PR for
the firm.”

It certainly would.

Investigative help wouldn’t hurt the real estate
agent’s chances—or Lexi’s—of getting the house sold in forty-five days. “Do you
think they’d be interested?”

“Oh, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Gerald Hennings, a.k.a. the Dapper Defense Lawyer,
pushed through the oversize ballroom doors, spotted the two women and unleashed
a smile. Even in his sixties, he had charm to spare. Salt-and-pepper hair and
the carved cheekbones of a man who’d once been devastatingly handsome—all
combined with his intelligence—added up to someone who ruled a courtroom.

“Gerald,” Mrs. Hennings said, “perfect timing. The
board meeting will be upstairs. Believe it or not, we’re the first ones here.”

The Dapper DL eyed his wife with a hint of
mischief, smiling in a rueful way that probably slayed jurors. “Shocking.” Then
he turned his charm loose on Lexi. “Alexis Vanderbilt, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Hennings. Thank you. And yourself?”

“I was quite well until fifteen seconds ago when my
wife announced my timing was perfect. That means I’ll either be writing you a
healthy check or she’s volunteered me for something. Either way, I’m sure it
will be painful.”